


Bucky Barnes, The Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy

by rebelmeg



Series: Rebelmeg's BBB 2020 [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Awesome Howling Commandos, Brooklyn Brothers, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Inspired by Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23464282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelmeg/pseuds/rebelmeg
Summary: It started with a trumpet, continued with a song, and ended with a memory.  Or, how Bucky became the Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy, nobody let him forget it, and then he remembered it.Based on this fantastic song by the Andrews Sisters!My lovely betas were worldtravellingfly and eachpeachpearplum!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Avengers Team, James "Bucky" Barnes & Howling Commandos, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers
Series: Rebelmeg's BBB 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687957
Comments: 25
Kudos: 84
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020





	Bucky Barnes, The Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Bucky Barnes, The Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy  
> Collaborator: rebelmeg  
> Square Filled: C3 - free square  
> Ship: Bucky & Steve  
> Rating: Gen  
> Major Tags: fluff and humor, Bucky's memories  
> Summary: It started with a trumpet, continued with a song, and ended with a memory. Or, how Bucky became the Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy, nobody let him forget it, and then he remembered it.  
> Word Count: 3716

_Brooklyn, 1932_

A fifteen-year-old Bucky Barnes puffed out his cheeks and blew out a long breath slowly, reasoning that it would not help the situation if he clonked Steve right over the head with the tuba the idiot was stubbornly holding onto.

“I want to do something too.” Steve was glowering, and if he’d been able to fold his arms and turn his nose up without looking like a petulant little kid, he would have. “Everyone else in the class gets to pick something to learn how to play, and I want to have a chance too.”

“So you immediately picked the instrument that’ll aggravate your asthma the worst? Real smart, Steve.”

That frown deepened, Steve’s face going bulldog stubborn.

Bucky just sighed. “You don’t always have to go for the thing that you think proves you’re not weak, you know.”

“I know that,” Steve snapped.

“Do you?”

The angry flush on his face went darker, but he didn’t reply.

Bucky put a hand on his thin shoulder, giving him a slight shake. “Get it together, Rogers. Once you figure out that you don’t have to prove yourself to every damn person out there, you’ll see that the whole world isn’t stacked against you.”

“That’s what you think,” Steve muttered under his breath, but he didn’t shrug Bucky’s hand away. With a grumping kind of sound, he let Bucky ease the battered tuba out of his hands. “What am I supposed to do if I can’t play an instrument that I have to blow into?”

“There’s lotsa stuff. Violin, guitar, piano, maybe even the drums.”

Steve perked up at that. “Maybe one of those really big drums?”

Bucky leveled a flat stare at him. “Really?”

Grumbling, Steve scowled. “Okay, fine, a normal sized one.”

“Long as you don’t have to carry it or blow into it, I don’t care. You can talk to the music teacher about it tomorrow. Now c’mon. We’re gonna be late home.”

* * *

_Europe, 1944_

Dugan started it. Because of course he did. All it took was a passing soldier in the mess tent whistling a few bars of the song to make Dum Dum’s face light up behind his mustache, and he looked right at Bucky. 

“Okay, but that’s you.”

Dernier’s shoulders went rigid as he dropped his fork, and he started swearing under his breath in French. 

“Here we go again.” Gabe muttered, shoveling a bite of overmashed potatoes into his mouth.

Steve looked like he was in pain, and Bucky was pretty sure he had a similar expression on his face. “Can we just… not have this discussion again? Please?”

“But that’s Bucky!”

Morita had sat up straight and was looking around like he was about to go find and kill the unknowing whistler. “Who got that damn song stuck in Dum Dum’s head again?”

Dum Dum ignored him and continued. “You’re a famous concert man,”

Steve shook his head. “He’s really not.”

“And I’m not from out Chicago way either.”

Gabe jumped in to play devil’s advocate. “Maybe they had to change it to protect your identity.”

Steve looked ready to explode as he glared at Gabe. “STOP HELPING HIM!”

Dum Dum ignored him entirely. “And you’ve got that boogie style, you can’t deny that.”

Bucky just… slumped over and let his forehead bang down on the table, narrowly missing his tray of food. “Oh geez, you pick up a trumpet and play a song _one time_.”

“Top man at your craft, gone with the draft, and look, you’re in the army now!”

“But he’s not blowin’ reveille.” Gabe pointed out.

“He could be!”

Morita covered his ears with his hands, bracing his elbows on the table as he closed his eyes and appeared to pray for death. “Someone kill me, I can’t handle this.”

“They even sing about Cap! Went out and grabbed him a band!”

Dernier’s face was in his hands, but his accented words were still audible. “This is the joke that refused to die.”

Bucky, head still on the table, muttered at his knees, “You know what, I’m gonna desert. Just go AWOL and never come back. The army will understand.”

“Okay, enough!” Steve slammed his fist down on the table, making all the trays and utensils jump. Dum Dum opened his mouth, probably to argue, but when Captain America pointed his finger at you like that, you didn’t often disagree with it.

“The next person who brings up that song, or sings that song, or whistles that song, or mentions the Andrews Sisters, or says the word boogie, or mentions a bugle, or implies that Bucky is famous because that damn song is about him… I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

Dum Dum looked sulky and mutinous while the rest of the Howlies looked ten different kinds of relieved (except for Gabe, who was grinning a little). They fell into silence as they continued eating, and the incident had almost passed out of their minds when—

“We never have heard you play by yourself though, are you any good without a bass and guitar?”

Steve’s face turned as red as his shield, Dum Dum looked unrepentant, Bucky gave up and slid under the table entirely, and the rest of the Howlies just braced themselves for the incoming explosion.

* * *

_New York, 2018_

"Where are we?”

“The Music Emporium.”

“Music? We’re in a music store? Why are we in a music store?”

Natasha sighed in a long-suffering way as she hooked her arm through Clint’s, an automatic safety precaution whenever she went anywhere with the human dumpster fire. Bucky trailed along behind them, keeping an eye on the trajectories that each of the other Avengers were set on as they spread out through the store.

It had been Tony’s idea to come here, though it turning into a field trip definitely hadn’t been part of his plan.

“Going to the music store, be back for dinner,” was all he had said as he passed through the communal area on his way out. Sam and Natasha had both perked up, both of them saying something about wanting to go along, and where Natasha went, Clint often followed. Bruce had mumbled something about getting some more opera music, Thor was always up for an outing, and Steve had looked at Bucky so hopefully that Bucky couldn’t say no. Five minutes later, they were all loading into Tony’s limo while the guy nattered on loudly about having weird roommates.

Steve wanting to go on this little outing probably had something to do with Bucky’s memories, he was pretty sure. Things were still a bit wonky up there in his head, and while the trigger words and their power were gone, Bucky’s memories were still like particularly holey swiss cheese. Lotsa gaps. And while some memories came back on their own, other times it took a trigger, like a familiar sound, smell, taste, or surroundings. He and Steve had probably been up and down every street in Brooklyn three times over by now, strolling along to see if any more memories jogged loose while they walked down the mostly unfamiliar streets. 

Bucky had no idea what Steve hoped to accomplish by taking him on a jaunt through a music store, as he so far hadn’t seemed particularly musically inclined, but that was okay. He was getting better at this whole “normal human” thing, and practice didn’t hurt.

The Emporium was three expansive stories of just about every kind of music-related paraphernalia there was. The bottom floor consisted entirely of media, CDs and vinyl records and kiosk computers to download digitally straight to mobile devices. The second floor was dedicated to instruments, everything from pianos to tubas to electric guitars, and racks upon racks of sheet music and music books. The top floor was all stereo equipment for listening and recording, speakers and microphones and headphones and all manner of stuff that Bucky didn’t have a chance at understanding or needing. 

He liked the building, though. There was a lot of glass, especially on the front and the second floor balcony that overlooked the ground floor. And there were no doors between the different sections on each floor unless you counted the contained, soundproofed practice rooms on the second and third floors for people that wanted to test out instruments or equipment. For having so much inside it, the store still felt open and airy rather than closed in and looming, which always made it easier for Bucky to breathe.

He browsed around the ground floor for a while, idly listening at the different music stations to different song samplings, flipping through CDs and records, even browsing through the collectibles, like t-shirts from rock concerts and signed guitars and drumsticks. He figured the top floor would be a waste of his time, the only thing up there he’d know how to use was headphones and he already had a few pairs of those at home. So after deciding to check on everyone else (a persistent habit he didn’t think he’d ever break), he headed to the instrument floor.

From a spot at the balcony railing that overlooked the bottom floor, Bucky’s sniper eyes found each of the Avengers. Sam had beelined right to the vinyl records when he first came in and hadn’t moved since. Tony was looking at the collectibles (and clearly considering buying a Queen concert t-shirt), while Steve browsed back and forth between the classic rock CDs and the oldies that had been popular when he and Bucky were growing up. 

Natasha had already come to the second floor, that had been her first stop, and Clint had pestered her while she made the rounds. They were both back downstairs with the others, Natasha listening to a few ballet albums at one of the kiosks while Clint sat on the floor next to it, tunelessly strumming a ukulele. Bruce had gone up to the third floor ahead of Bucky, muttering something about new headphones. Thor was still on the second floor, near the back in one of the practice rooms, being coached through a quick and dirty drum lesson by one of the salespeople, perched contentedly on a stool behind a drum set.

Satisfied that everyone was safe, Bucky turned around and set to wandering. He was in the woodwind section, and he meandered his way through it slowly, looking at all the different styles and shapes of instruments and all the equipment and supplies that came with them. Flutes, clarinets, saxophones, different sizes of each of them ranging from a tiny piccolo no longer than his hand, to a monstrous contra-bassoon that was out on display. He entertained himself by carefully touching the instruments that had been put out for customers to see and handle, gently tapping at the keys on the flutes and clarinets, running his finger over the flared end of a shiny brass saxophone, and looking through all the little boxes of reeds used to play the different instruments.

Pianos and stringed instruments were next, and Bucky walked in and around the different sized pianos first, plinking the keys on grand pianos and uprights alike. There had been an out of tune upright piano in one of the church dance halls he and Steve had frequented as young adults, and the memory of it made him smile a little. He liked the guitars as well, admiring the myriad of shapes, from the hour-glass acoustic guitars to the rounded mandolins. He didn’t dare try out any of the violins, they looked so delicate, but he did strum the bass and pluck a low tune out on a cello before giving a harp a very gentle swipe.

The percussion instruments stood in neat rows of marimbas and xylophones in the front, to individual drums, then drum sets and cymbals, gongs, and chimes near the back. There were dozens of mallets and drumsticks, a variety for each style of instrument, but Bucky was pretty sure he liked the marimba best either way. He liked the way it sounded cheerful.

Brass instruments were last, and Bucky looked through them all with interest. There were enormous contrabass tubas and the small bugles, something called a flugelhorn, and he actually snickered a little bit when he saw a silvery trombone kind of instrument called a sackbut. He had just about finished up when he passed a lineup of trumpets, shiny and gleaming under the lights, and without knowing why, he came to a stop. Something was… niggling at him, kind of like déjà vu, and he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the trumpets.

There were staff and salespeople spread throughout the store, keeping an eye on things, but so far they hadn’t approached Bucky. Not for the first time, he wondered if Tony had called ahead, because this kind of thing happened a lot. It was like the employees had been told to give him his space. Now, however, one of them approached him with a friendly smile on his face.

“Would you like to try one out?” He asked, his voice quiet and calm, and Bucky found himself nodding wordlessly. The salesman picked up one of the trumpets and held it out, and the moment Bucky touched it, the instrument felt familiar in his hands. He shifted it automatically, holding it with his left hand and working the keys with his right. His metal hand clinked against the brass, but it didn’t bother him. It still felt familiar.

“You can give it a try.” The salesman urged, picking up a trumpet himself. “Have you ever played before?”

Bucky had no idea.

“Purse your lips like this,” the salesman demonstrated, then put the trumpet to his lips, “then you’re gonna want to buzz them as you blow air out. It sounds weird, but that’s how it works.” He did so, and Bucky’s eyes widened as a loud, clear note sounded from the instrument.

Feeling awkward, he lifted the trumpet to his lips, having no idea what the guy meant by buzzing his lips. But the moment his mouth touched metal, it was like something magic happened. His mouth immediately molded into the right position, his lips forming the perfect embouchure even though a moment before he hadn’t had the faintest idea what an embouchure was. Suddenly, as he blew that first note, he knew exactly what to do.

Without any conscious thought, Bucky started to play. His fingers just knew what to do, his lungs took in a big breath of air, and his mouth and jaw manipulated exactly how they should as he played the notes of a jazz song that felt like home. The music came from somewhere inside him, not his head, more like his heart, and he lost himself inside it, closing his eyes as his body remembered what his brain hadn’t known was missing.

The song echoed through the Emporium, bringing heads around. And at one of the kiosks where he was downloading some songs onto his phone, Steve looked up and his jaw dropped.

He knew that rhythm.

Taking off at a run, he gunned for the stairs, with the rest of the Avengers following behind him.

They weren’t the only ones. A crowd was already gathering, circling around Bucky where he was completely wrapped up in the music, his body bobbing and swaying to the beat, playing as if he’d never done anything else. 

At least twenty people had materialized by the time he finally finished, but he didn’t even notice as he opened his eyes. His mouth was buzzing, he was breathing hard, and he looked at the trumpet in his hands with reverent awe.

Applause broke out around him, making him jump, and he looked around at the crowd in surprise. His eyes got stuck on Steve, who was standing there right at the front, slack-jawed and gawping.

“Bucky… you remember?”

He just shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I guess… a part of me does.”

Steve’s face broke out into a huge smile, and he was suddenly wrapping Bucky up in a bear hug. Huffing out a chuckle, Bucky returned the hug, staring at the trumpet he was still holding over Steve’s shoulder.

“We’ll take it.” Tony’s voice found its way through the scattered applause still going on, and Bucky looked up just in time to see the salesman nodding in a very pleased way.

“I… really?” He looked at Tony once Steve pulled back, flushed and pleased and embarrassed.

Tony just smiled, sliding a credit card across the counter along with a stack of piano music books and the t-shirt he’d been looking at downstairs. “Anything that makes you look like that, smile like that? It’s yours, Buckaroo. It made Steve smile too, which is a plus.” He turned to the salesman. “Can you get him set up with anything else he needs?”

“Of course, Mr. Stark,” The man assured him, looking delighted.

“Anyone else?” Tony turned around, looking for the others. “Clint, have you paid for that ukulele yet? Where is Bruce with his stack of very uncool CDs?" He said _CDs_ like it was a dirty word. "And where is Thor?”

“Buying a drum set,” Sam informed him with a grin. “Your credit card is taking a hit today.” 

Tony just shrugged. “Music is a universal language, happy to share it.”

Bucky wasn’t listening, though not because he was trying to be rude. He was just feeling… bubbly inside, which was strange but not unpleasant. He found himself manipulating the trumpet keys again, fingering the notes without even thinking about it. Fragments and phrases of music kept flitting through his head, bits and pieces of different songs, and he wondered how many he might have memorized. It was a daunting but thrilling thought.

Then he remembered something else, and squinted at Steve.

“Did you get all bull-headed stubborn and try to play the tuba once when we were kids?”

Steve flushed pink and pretended he hadn’t heard him.

The Avengers trooped out of the store a while later, with most of their goods in tow. Bucky’s brand new trumpet was packed up in a black leather case edged with metal, and he also had a bag full of supplies and music books. Bruce did indeed have a new stack of uncool CDs as well as some new headphones, Sam had a few records, and Steve was flipping through the new songs downloaded on his phone as he chatted with Sam about his records. Natasha had a Level 2 instruction booklet for piano (she was teaching herself how to play), and Clint was still strumming along on his ukulele. Tony was arranging for delivery of Thor’s new drum set, and for the baby grand he was going to put in the communal area for everyone to use. "Nat needs one, clearly, and I'm not sharing the one in my room."

“How many pianos do you have?” Bruce asked with a hint of incredulity in his voice.

“All together, or just at the Compound?”

Bruce didn’t reply.

Bucky held his trumpet case on his lap during the ride home, his fingertips skating over the edges of the metal and the grain of the leather. He itched to get the instrument out again, feel the way it fit in his hands, but he made himself wait. It was his now, and he could play it anytime he wanted. Unlike other people.

With a faint smirk, he glanced over at Clint, who was pouting at Natasha. She had confiscated his ukulele about two seconds after they got in the limo, and the archer was very put out about it.

“So… wanna hit a bowling alley next week?” Tony suggested, glancing up from the music book he was flipping through. “I know one that turns on the black lights after dark and we can all dress up in neon colors like we’re at a rave.”

Almost afraid to imagine what kind of a disaster that might be, Bucky tapped his fingers on his trumpet case and smiled to himself. And then he thought of something.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Did Dum Dum Dugan used to say there was a song about me? Some kind of… bugle song?”

Steve’s eyes lit up at the same time he groaned. “The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B, the Andrews Sisters. The joke that wouldn’t die.”

“Wait,” Tony had sat forward, looking intrigued, “I know that song, that song is about you?”

“No way!” Clint was grinning. “I love that song! Nat sings it sometimes!”

She elbowed him in the ribs.

Steve rubbed a hand over his face, looking slightly exhausted even though he also couldn’t stop smiling. “We stopped in a town somewhere near Marseilles for a one-day leave, and they pulled together a band. We were up all night, dancing and drinking and having fun, and then you somehow got ahold of the trumpet one of the band guys had. You blew everyone away, you’d always been good at it, and the next day that Andrews Sisters song came on the radio, and Dum Dum was like a dog with a bone, he never let it go.”

Bucky nodded, the memories patchy but there. “I remember that.”

“He also started implying that the reason you were so good with the dames was because your lips got such a workout playing the trumpet, so you had a leg-up over the rest of them.”

Tony choked on nothing but air, and Bruce was snickering and snorting as he pounded on the billionaire's back. Sam held his knuckles out for Bucky to pound them, and Thor was nodding as if he was impressed.

“That’s awesome!” Clint gushed. “You’re almost more famous than Cap!”

Steve just shook his head. “Let it go, Clint. The song is not about Bucky.”

Clint just waved a dismissive hand at him, his eyes still glued on Bucky. “It’s true, right? I mean, not all of it, but that’s you?”

Bucky opened his mouth to deny it, something about this situation somehow familiar, but then at the last second, he looked over at Steve… and something of a distinctly trouble-making nature seemed to awaken inside him.

“Yep. It’s true. It’s me.”

The look on Steve’s face was absolutely _priceless_.


End file.
